The Estranged Star
by GaleSynch
Summary: Slightly AU, Even if you're the villain of this tale, my duty is to make sure you prevail; I will never let anyone bring you down, so I'd do as you please. [Self-Insert, Male OC]
1. 1 Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything you recognize. **

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**Title:** The Estranged Star.

**Summary:** Slightly AU, Even if you're the villain of this tale, my duty is to make sure you prevail; I will never let anyone bring you down, so I'd do as you please.

**Alternate Summary:** Long ago, long ago in a place out of reach, evil ruled and darkness grew, it fed the hopelessness. Who was it that sat at the top? The scariest sight you'd see: the Dark Lord and by his side a pair of mother and son that were indeed you and me.

**Warnings:** Death. The usual when it involves Death Eaters. Antagonist Male!OC.

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**The Estranged Star**

**Prologue**  
_Once Upon A Time_

Hidden by the shadows that shroud the alleyway I'm hiding in, I watch them: the Muggle mother and son pair that had been in the store for quite awhile.

The boy is such a menace I feel like drawing my wand—no, _his_ wand, this wand still cleaves to its first and last owner, forever loyal but because I am who I am, the wand is obliged to obey me—and end his life there and then. But I suppress the murderous rage—as I had done so often in these past nineteen years—because times have changed and I'm a wanted fugitive.

Causing so much scene in the country where I'm one of the most Undesirables is not a smart thing to do. Not especially when I have an important purpose here.

(_It's that fateful day again, so full of bitterness_)

Still, I watch them, trying to ignore the burn in my chest.

The mother smiles rather awkwardly; I see, by their simple and worn clothes, that they are not rich. It is easy to guess that the mother does not have the required amount of money to buy what he wants.

My son is never like this. He never demands, even when we're on the run, when he's still just a young baby, he never cries or demand much, as if he knows that I'm troubled by him enough already.

(_My love for you is forever, all you want I'll do_)

I remember Rasalas clearly. Forever eighteen, always eighteen, never old enough to cross into manhood. His pale skin and that dark hair (so much like his father's) that has undertones of red and bronze when he's under the sun; his eyes are the most memorable—they remind me of my own eyes... no, they _are_ my eyes... he gets them from me, like blood on the dark earth.

I also remember the distaste and disdain I have when I hear that I'm pregnant with him. Detestable! How am I to serve the Dark Lord properly if I'm so heavily weighed down?

But the Dark Lord is understanding; he tells me to rest, to stay safe (_oh my Lord_) enough to give birth to my son who will no doubt serve him as loyally as I did.

Once he's born, there's this odd, twisting sensation in my chest. I can't describe it very well, but I think it's love, something I didn't realize until now, when he's no longer in my arms and he's outgrown my embraces. Maternal instincts, motherly love.

For Rasalas, the brilliant star.

My brilliant son.

I still have a hard time believing it, even after nineteen years, that he is actually different from all of us. At first, I thought he was a Diviner—one who is greater than Seers and with him on our side, we will be indestructible, we will win—but he's not that special, he's another brand of special. A unique difference.

Someone who's from another world.

His memories are my most prized possession. Kept in a fragile glass that I fortified with every Charm possible to protect it from shattering. I also keep a Pensieve, so that, when I miss him the most, I will immerse myself in his memories, I will live as him.

I will see the years of his life that I'd missed.

Like all stories go, his story started with a once upon a time.

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Once upon a time, there lived a child. Like all children, she believed in magic and was an impressionable kid, she grew up and magic was long forgotten. However, like all children will eventually, she died.

Actually, she was unsure if she died or not. Or maybe she had just been dreaming for a very, very long time. A baby's nine months time in the mother's womb equivalent to her nineteen years of life.

Well, if she truly had been asleep—

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If I'm asleep, then this would have to be the worst damned nightmare of my entire life.

Cold, cold air found its way down my windpipe, rattling my small lungs as I take in as many breaths as I could; I was gasping for breath. Not unusual as I'd been drowning minutes earlier. At least, that was the impression the constricting darkness had given me, it had been so hard to breathe there and air kept escaping plus, there was water everywhere.

I was crying before I knew it. I was so damned confused that I wanted to let it all out, to let everyone know how I felt so I can get some answers and—

_help me_

—someone cradled me, strong and warm, moving me. My world swirled in a blur of darkness as I felt myself lifted from wherever I had been laid to rest not a moment ago.

Another pair of arms, accompanied by a tired voice ("What do we call him?"), accepted me, caging me in their embrace, cradling me to their bosom. This was a woman holding me.

Which made it even more weird since I was too big and heavy to be fitted into someone's arms.

Confused, I squirmed, trying to swing my fist to dislodge the attacker. _Let go! _

"Rasalas," said a woman's voice. "His name will be Rasalas. Then we can nickname him 'Sal'—similar to our Slytherin founder. How wonderful..." I couldn't see but I think she's smiling.

"Rasalas Lestrange," echoed a man's voice. "Yes, I'd like that."

A hand on my head stopped my struggles.

"Rest, little Sal, we have _so_ much in store for you."

I closed my eyes.

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**Short, I know, but it'd get longer as it goes.**

**Tell me what you think. **

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	2. 1 Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything you see here.**

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**The Estranged Star**

**Chapter 1**  
_Dawn of Realization_

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How does someone gain the privilege to be reincarnated? Or, in other words, gain the privilege to be in another body and the opportunity to start a new life with adult memories and a life's worth of mistake? That is something I often ask myself during my infant-hood but even after ten years, I would never know.

How it feels to be someone you aren't, however? I know that feeling only too well.

It took me only a few days to realize what had happened and accept it.

I was now a baby.

In another world, by the looks of it.

I mean, how many Lestrange family are there in the real world who, conveniently, often speak of the Dark Lord Voldemort? None. There's no such thing in the real world which means that I am in another world. One out of reach.

My parents? Bellatrix Lestrange and Rodolphus Lestrange?

I tried real hard not to cry when I realized that fact. But that wasn't all.

I was a boy.

I was a boy. A guy. A man. A male. And every other synonyms in the world for the word boy, y'know, the gender. I didn't want to believe it. Even though the name was out of the ordinary (Rasalas, the star?), there is that masculine tinge to it. Like, you instinctively think of a boy when you hear that name.

For the first time, I was glad that I wasn't in full-control of the body.

I know, I know, I can't possible avoid learning how to, er, function as a boy forever. But I'd like to avoid that trauma as much as possible. Lucky thing there's magic, my diapers were changed using magic and I thanked every deity I knew of for that.

I can't exactly flail in panic as I couldn't move or even control my hands properly, but I did hyperventilate (I think) and I needed my 'mother' to comfort me, patting my back and carrying me.

It was weird, but I don't think it's my mind who relaxed in her presence. Please, she was a deranged murderer and it sent alarm bells ringing in my head by just hearing her voice. It's the body; the baby body felt safe in her presence, the mother of the body.

She was the only one the baby smiled to, because on days my situation got so unbearable I actually screamed and threw a temper tantrum, she was always there to comfort me and reassure me that_ everything's OK_. I guess, judging from her current attitude and the personality she'd have once she escaped from Azkaban, that Azkaban had done a number on her.

A woman whose clever ambition and fierce passion who got out of hand.

Thinking about it like that, it made me want to cry.

What a damned pity. She could've been a great hero.

**:: :: ::**

It was rare to see a wand lying around. Because we're at war and one slip was all it takes to be killed. That's why every wizard and witch had their wands at ready, in an accessible place on whichever part of their body. To see a wand lying on the sofa...

I scrambled over to it, clinging to it with my chubby fist (neither of my parents were fat or anything, so I don't think I was considered too big for a baby). If there was anything worth the insanity, terror and sheer disbelief I had been put through, this was it: magic, the feeling of it trapped in the wand I was holding.

A large hand encased my own. "Sal, that is Uncle Rab's wand, put it down. You'll get your own someday."

"Extinguish the fire before the manor burn down, Rab," my sperm donor's voice called out from somewhere behind us. I turned to look at him; he was sitting on the other single-seat sofa, reading the—I squinted—Daily Prophet. Over the grey papers and moving images, I saw his copper hair that was cropped short and I could easily imagine his strong jaw, almond-shaped eyes the bluish-steel of a midwinter sky and weariness marred his handsome features.

(_In war, who isn't tired?_)

"He's going to be as destructive as his mother someday," Rab darkly predicted as he extinguished the flames eating away at the soft material of the sofa with a wave of his hand. I watched, fascinated, as he repaired the burnt parts and plopped himself down beside me. "That's a good thing, Sal," he told me, ruffling my rather wavy hair (which I obviously inherited from Bellatrix) which framed my face.

Just recently, I had looked into the mirror. Pale skin and thick, shiny dark hair like mother's. But my eyes were like father's. And, come to think of it, Rabastan's eyes.

I didn't see my 'grandparents' which meant that were were dead or they were in hiding.

As an infant, my interactions were very limited. I was born during wartime (_born November 13th, in the year 1978_) and tensions were running high with the deaths and fights going on. I will have a cousin brother soon, I already have a cousin sister. But I don't think Bellatrix will be letting me join Nymphadora's tea-party anytime soon and there's too little babies being born, especially to the active Death Eaters who are also fighting for their lives just as much as they are taking lives.

I learned, pretty quickly, that Rabastan was as much my uncle as he was my godfather.

Being childless and wifeless, he was often on the battlefield so I didn't see him much. But... he wasn't actually a bad person. Well, he joked and laughed with his brother, he ruffled my hair and entertained me with his wand. I quite liked him, despite what his occupation was.

It's weird, that I liked being carried around by him, being carried by his hands that have taken more life than he had given.

I wasn't very close to Rodolphus, in fact, I had seen very little of him but he did plant a kiss on my forehead before leaving, once, and he would tuck me in at night.

Bellatrix was the one I spent most of my time with, the three months she was given lift from her testing job of a Death-Eater was the time we bonded. Needing to recuperate after giving birth to me, she had to stay at home. She told me a lot of things, about the Dark Lord and she had already drafted plans of how I'd be serving Voldemort as loyally as her and I'd make her proud.

What shocked me and ruined my image of her being a lunatic was that... she indulged in baby-talk (Why use 'biggie' to replace shitting when she, undoubtedly, had cussed like a sailor in her life?). I shouldn't be too surprised, judging from how she mocked Harry after Sirius Black's death. But that's when she's crazy, her sanity shattered into so many pieces and scattered by the wind to every corner of the world.

It was funny.

Funny enough to make me laugh.

(_But my laughter would quickly be stifled because in the Lestrange household, there's no such thing as joy_)

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I was a quiet baby and had I been born to any other family, I would've been considered abnormal and possibly be subjected to a lot of treatment for a disease that wasn't even there. Fortunately, the Lestranges didn't care that I was quiet, that I didn't cry for attention or whine for affection.

I developed as quickly as humanely possible and was already roaming the house by the age of two, much to my uncle's chagrin.

Out of my three caretakers, Uncle Rab was probably the one who cared about me most. He nearly had a heart-attack when he failed to find me in the living room (which also happened to be my playroom). To stop me from wandering around the house (and possibly stumble upon their storeroom that stored skeletons and Dark stuff) he gave me a toy broomstick with the promise to stay in the first floor area, but Rodolphus banned any sort of physical games in the living room when I crashed into the tea table and scored the first scar for this body.

Surprisingly (I still have a lot to learn), it was Bellatrix who started buying books for me to read and sometimes, she stayed long enough to teach me how to read. Whenever all three had to leave, they left me tons of homework, schoolwork they assigned.

I was sure I got everything down right, even though my handwriting was like a chicken's scrawl, but they never said I did anything wrong because they only flipped through it to make sure I had done as I was told. They told me 'good work' but I knew that they were all too tired to really read through what I'd write.

Uncle Rab tried once, when I pointed out to him that he wasn't really checking, but he fell asleep in under three seconds.

It's also the first time it really hit me they were murderers, that I was born to their family and had been taken care of by them.

His robes were dark and the manor was also poorly lit, but I stretched and managed to bully the fairies into waking to light the room up. I fingered the fabric of his robes; it was frayed and dried, stiff and crusted over. I shifted to allow better light—and even the captured fairies leaned forward to see why they had been forced awake—and I saw it, the brown-red patches.

("Sal? Why are you sitting so faraway?"

"Uncle Rab... you _killed_."

"Yes, so? I don't think you know the true meaning of it."

"Dis—gus—ting." _You're disgusting._)

If you have the Cruciatus Curse, why is there blood?

**:: :: ::**

I was four when I realized that they were more than murderers: they were vile.

I had heard it frequently in the past few weeks, I heard mother's grief and shriek of rage at the Dark Lord's downfall and she often blasted things apart. Father swept me out of the living room when Mother's curse blasted the caged fairy apart, taking away my source of light. He placed me in his study and allowed me to rifle through his books with the promise that I wouldn't cause a scene.

He didn't seem to think it odd that a four-year-old would understand what he was saying. I knew that when I was truly four years old, I wouldn't have listened and would've made a mess anyway.

Mercifully, I was mentally an adult so the Lestranges have nothing to worry about.

I do, however, have something to worry about. Lately, I've been wondering if the manor was haunted. Oh I knew the version of ghosts in this world but the novels were from Harry Potter's point of view. He had only met the tame ghosts from Hogwarts, so that didn't prove there weren't more dangerous ghosts in the rest of the world.

The screaming, as if the souls were being tortured, had me ducking under the table to hide.

Father—or Rodolphus as I will sometimes call him—found me on the third evening of hiding away from the ghosts, he dragged me out after I nearly brained him with _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy _and placed me on his lap, gently inquiring what was wrong with me.

I didn't even know until he pointed out that I was shaking badly.

Well, I've never said I was the bravest person. And ghosts, they had always spooked me.

I grimaced as I told him about the screams. "...Are there ghosts?" I wanted to complain about the dark, even the study was dark and I couldn't find a switch. Only the old fairy whose light was dying accompanied me in the study and, you see, they aren't much of a company or protection.

"No, they're human screams," said Father and didn't go into detail except to tell me it was OK and nothing's going to harm me as long as I stay there. It was supposed to make me feel better, but somehow, I felt worse.

It did make the fear go away and when I realized I wasn't scared anymore, it struck me that he really was filing his job as a father because parents were _supposed_ to make us kids less-scared.

It took me three days of indecisiveness to find out who was screaming—if they were even alive anymore because it's been eerily silent since Dad assured me there's no ghosts in the house. Or were screaming. Plural form because the shrieks were varying in pitch—best guess, a man and a woman.

It was Barty Crouch who led me to them. Uncle Rab said he was his best friend and that he was just here for a visit; they had a good time teasing me about my fear of ghosts until Mother hauled them away. Looking back on it, it was quite stupid of me to let them bother me and distract me from my original purpose of approaching them: _why was he here?_

While the basement was not off-limits to me, Father implied that it's dangerous and since danger was supposed to deter me, I was not exactly welcomed there. But the screams really did come from down there.

Mother's voice reached me first.

"—me!" she was shrieking and I had never heard such hatred and pure malice in her voice. I edged, as silently as possible, down the stairs and waited for my eyes to adjust before hesitantly edging closer to the source of the voice.

I saw a fireplace that cast an eerie glow around the room; there was a hallway that stretched into darkness, I didn't explore that way because the screams were deafening, coming from an open doorway. It led to a large room, dark and lit only by the frantic fairies thrashing to escape from their cages.

I knew what was unsettling them the moment I set my eyes on the six people in the room: the Dark Magic that invaded every corner of the room.

"_Crucio!_" One Cruciatus Curse was bad enough, except that her voice wasn't the only one who shouted. I wouldn't have been as shaken had it been Crouch alone who had cast it, but my parents and uncle were casting it too.

Two people—one man and one woman—writhed on the ground, bound but they weren't gagged and they were screaming. Not begging for mercy, no, but just shrieking in pure pain. They were in so much pain their screams alone told paragraphs upon paragraphs of the pain they were feeling; it seeped into me and I actually felt their pain.

I must've made a noise because my world spun and I pitched forward and Dad caught me.

"Enough, Bella, Rab, Barty, we stop for today," Dad said, his voice was quiet as he carried me out of the basement, thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I looked into Uncle Rab's eyes; he was keeping his wand, his eyes were such a vividly pale color in the dark that they reminded me of electricity; he glanced away, determinedly avoiding my stare. I shifted my gaze to Mom; her chest was heaving and her eyes were wild, as if she didn't know who I was.

Barty was bursting with complains I didn't register, I heard, though, Mom screaming at him to 'shut the fuck up'.

I expected Dad to yell at me or beat me but he just placed me on his chair in the study and said, "What were you thinking?"

I shook my head, grimacing.

"Fine, then." He rose from his seat. "Stay where you are, don't wander down the basement ever again, not without permission."

("Don't look at me like that, Sal."

"..."

"Don't, Sal, just—_DON'T!_"

"Bella, you're scaring him."

"Listen, Sal, you won't have to hear the screams anymore. So smile, everything's back to normal."

"Why? Is it 'coz they're _dead_?"

"_Don't you look at me with those eyes, you little brat—!_"

"Shut it, Barty."

"Because we let them go."

"Why?"

"Because they're scaring you, sweetie.")

:: :: ::

I smoothed out the Daily Prophet, scanning the headlines: _AURORS FRANK AND ALICE LONGBOTTOM TORTURED BY DEATH-EATERS_.

_Frank Longbottom had been confirmed to be permanently incapacitated, unable to string a sentence together but his wife is in a stabler condition. She is currently amnesiac, however, there is a likely chance that she'd remember what had happened and hopefully, help us bring them to justice._

_Our current suspects are—_

"Don't read that rubbish, Sal," Uncle Rab said gently as he ripped the papers from beneath me and chucked it into the fireplace. I glanced at him, then at the trunk he was holding. He noticed it too, he tapped it with his wand and it shrunk; he clasped it and placed it in his pocket.

"Goin' somewhere?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Goodbye, Sal."

"Wait! Where're ya goin'?"

He smiled. "I have to lure the Ministry officials away." And he disappeared.

A week later, I learned that the house was protected by a Fidelius Charm and Uncle Rab was the Secret Keeper. He clearly never expected to be captured but he was anyway, along with Barty Crouch Jr. They were tried before the Court and sentenced to Azkaban.

I didn't know that was the reason why Dad sprang to his feet until I read to the end of the paper. Uncle Rab, caught and under Veritaserum, admitted his crimes; he would've spilled where we were as well.

But it was too late.

A Ministry official held me to her chest, restraining me as my parents were dragged away from me.

"MOM! DAD!"

I guess it never really hit me until then, that my parents were evil in everyone's eyes and thus, deserved to die.

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**Answer to Reviews:**

**Retzl: **Well, the prologue does.

**Guest: **Thanks for reviewing! XD

**oOo**

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**Q:** _**W**ho do you think will take custody of Rasalas?_

**Thanks for reading, remember to review as well!**

**xxx**


	3. 1 Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything you recognize. **

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**The Estranged Star**

**Chapter 2**  
_Dawn of Age_

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"This will be your room."

Aunt Cissa's hand squeezed my shoulder gently and I could imagine the reassuring smile she was giving me. There were black rings under her eyes which're also rimmed red, I know she'd been crying about Mom being thrown into Azkaban. The trial was held two days ago and I was instantly given to Aunt Cissa because she was my only living relative left.

She hugged me when she first saw me, allowing me to stifle a sob in her shoulder, which was at the Ministry where I had been allowed, against all logic, to watch my parents' trial. It was probably a reminder to not go down that path u_nless you want to end up like that, kid._

Mom admitted with so much pride I was ashamed that she was waiting for Voldemort to come back and was sure her loyalty would be rewarded. Dad needed a Veritaserum because he refused to admit anything. He kept eye-contact with me until he was dragged away.

(_There was one second that I thought I saw his eyes flickered an apology my way before he was dragged away_)

Aunt Cissa had probably prepared the place in the nick of time but it was good. Spacious and bright; the walls were painted a blue the shade of the sky and the bed-sheets were the same color. I wondered how she knew I liked light colors. The furniture were white, a sharp contrast to the mahogany wood that constructed the Lestrange Manor's furniture. I wasn't in any place to complain though.

"Do you like it?" Aunt Cissa asked me quietly.

I nodded. "'S okay, I guess."

"Your clothes have already been arranged," Aunt Cissa told me as she snapped her fingers. "Dobby!" I blinked when I heard the familiar name and I turned to see the house-elf bowing low to Aunt Cissa. "You see, Sal? Just snap your fingers and call his name and he'd come to serve your every whim. Begone, Dobby."

"Yes, Mistress." Curious tennis-ball eyes eyeballed me before disappearing with a crack.

"Come, I'll show you my son. He's younger than you by two years and he's named after the constellation Draco. I'm sure you'll get along." It was a very long walk to the nursery and Aunt Cissa kept enthusiastically pointing this and that to me. I was grateful at her attempt to cheer me up but her falsely-cheery voice was quite sickening.

"Keep your steps light, Sal, Draco's asleep and it had been a chore to get him to do so without a Sleeping Charm." For the first time, her tone was genuine, her smile was warm and those changes made her seem twenty years younger. There was a toddler on the mat, sucking on his own thumb as he slumbered. "Sal, you will... help me protect my son, won't you? Like a big brother would."

"...Whatever," I said coldly.

**:: :: ::**

I was five, but I was old enough to know when I disliked something.

The reason I disliked Draco weren't just limited to the fact that he was a demanding baby, often throwing tantrums and crying, sending Aunt Cissa into a frenzy to calm him, but he was also a spoiled brat that demanded I keep him company 24/7.

But the main reason is that he's always fawned over by his parents. Now, I know I'm being irrational and I can't exactly blame Draco for being loved—how was it his fault my parents weren't acquitted their crimes by the Wizengamot?

It had been a year since I came to live with Aunt Cissa and her family; they treated me OK, Aunt Cissa had the tendency to fawn and fret over me like a real mother would. But Lucius treated me indifferently and we barely spoke sans the proper amount of greeting.

It may seem that he simply didn't care that I existed.

Oh but you see, there's the problem. He cared that I existed; not in a loving way, rather, he knew I was a thorn in his side.

The Black Family had no heirs, with Regulus Black dead and Sirius Black in Azkaban, the male line was dead. The female line was extant but since Andromeda had been disowned, only Narcissa and my mom would have any right to inherit it. As I was the son of the oldest daughter, the title of the Black family and their wealth would be passed on to me.

Wow, I was all impressed and happy when I figured that out.

But I started watching out and was careful to avoid being in the same room was Lucius. If I died, Draco would inherit everything. That was almost enough to keep me functioning without food and water and that's just how possessive I am about my wealth and everything I own.

I was sure that the only reason I'm not six-feet under is because Lucius Malfoy didn't have the guts to challenge my Mom even though she's currently serving a life-sentence in Azkaban. I heard Aunt Cissa telling her husband that the very first lesson she'd learned as a girl was _what Bella wants, Bella gets._

Translation: Bellatrix _will_ find a way to you and she _won't_ be merciful.

I felt a little touched, that even though my parents are so far away from me, they're still protecting me.

**:: :: ::**

I tugged on my blue tunic, trying to fan myself. Summer has never been my favorite season. I grimaced in disdain as I trudged after the seven-year-old and too-energetic Draco and Lucius who had discarded his cloak in this heat. Aunt Cissa was sitting under the porch, watching with a small smile as we marched into the backyard.

I'd rather seat beside her and read a book than to be here, burning in the heat. And that was saying something because the books Aunt Cissa allowed me to read were full of crap about how magical creatures were evil creatures out to steal our magic and exaggerated stuff about Harry Potter (I was sick of it, especially because Voldemort's downfall caused me to lose my parents).

As if he was sensing my thoughts, Draco fell back and latched onto my shorts. "Come on, Sal!" he said excitedly, dragging me after him. "I can't wait to ride a real broom."

"Yeah, pity I couldn't wait any longer."

"Huh?"

"Draco, Rasalas, hurry up. The sun won't wait." Lucius handed me a Comet 260, similar to the ones he and Draco were holding. I grimaced. I can't believe he was going to let a kid ride a _real_ broomstick which could go faster than he could run. The scar I had when I'd crashed into the tea-table as a toddler had not faded.

It was an arc on my forearm, a stark white in contrast to my already pale skin. Or red skin, now that I was scorching under the glare of the sun.

I sighed. "Let's get this over with," I said. Let it be known that I wasn't one for physical activities. My skin was sensitive to the sun and was already turning the shade of a flaming lobster's shell.

Lucius paid more attention to Draco of course, but it was still the time he had spoken more than one sentence with me. If he didn't want to teach me, he could've just said so.

Flying, I thought as I was in air, was exhilarating. The heat that scorched be no longer bothered me as the wind that blew against me, trying to deter me, cooled me down. I laughed. The broom wasn't jerky and the apprehension I felt when I first rose into air was but a long-gone dream.

I gripped the broom firmly and directed it, I made sure to stay low though, in case I fell—or more likely, Lucius tries to kill me—but I slowly rose, tempted by the greater heights. It would be even more enjoyable though if the whole field was softened with Cushioning Charms which'd make me feel safer and of course, without—

"Sal! Wait for me!"

—Draco.

"No, Draco, you're not ready—that's not the right angle—Draco, get down here this instant!"

I turned. Draco was zooming upward in a ninety-degree angle. "See, Sal? I can do it, too!" I'm surprised he hadn't fell off yet.

For a moment, I entertained the idea of letting him zoom into space. I mean, can the broom accomplish such a feat? Wizards should be able to do it since Muggles have already accomplished it. It's ludicrous to think we can't do something they can when we're supposed to be superior.

But Aunt Cissa had leapt to her feet and the sheer horror on her face at the prospect of her son falling, injuring himself and quite possibly die made me change my mind instantly. I doubled back, steering so that I would be within distance to wrap an arm around Draco's waist and pull him onto my broom. He yelled in shock, clinging onto me, as his broom clattered to the ground.

I thanked my lucky stars that we landed safely; once I was on firm ground, I felt like swooning but managed to desist by falling to my knees, world still spinning.

I have to take back what I thought earlier.

There's still no better place to place my legs than the firm ground I feel now.

"Draco, do you know how worried I was?" Aunt Cissa's voice was never this high, which shows just how much she cares about her son.

An unfamiliar feeling tugged at my gut, I swallowed uncomfortably, and before I knew it, I was striding back to the mansion.

It's so stuffy. Too stuffy.

I grimaced. Two more years before Hogwarts, boy, you can tough it out.

**:: :: ::**

_Someone's there. No, not human perhaps. Something's there, staring at my back, trying to drill holes and making me sweat in fear. Well, they're succeeding in doing the latter._

I trembled slightly and pulled the comforter tighter around myself, feeling oddly cold. I wish Dad was here to talk me through rationality (he'd say, _ghosts can't touch us, can't hurt us so there's not a thing to be feared_) or Mom was here to chase them away (she'd say, _nothing can hurt you while I'm here, sweetie_).

But I was alone.

So alone.

I can't sleep.

I rolled out of bed, and silently made my way out of the room. The hallway was as dark, if not, darker. I shuddered slightly as I made my way down the now-familiar hallway of Malfoy Manor. There's still nothing like your own home, even if the Lestrange Manor was darker, it still carried the memories of my protectors and the wards were familiar to me because I had Lestrange blood and that manor was warded to protect me against _everything_.

I wonder what that makes me, to miss murderers, causers of grief to a lot of people out there. But usually, I tried not to think about the number of people my parents and uncle had killed and tortured to achieve their dream.

I would like to think of them as people who are very passionate of their goals and ambitions.

"Master Lass?"

I jumped a foot in air and it was a good thing it was dark or Dobby the house-elf would've seen my sheet-white face. His eyes that were the size of orbs were peering at me with curiosity. "Is there something Master Lass need, sir?" he added tremulously. Dobby was afraid of his master and mistress but he still had to speak if he was to serve them properly and avoid any punishment.

I unstuck my throat, trying to not be embarrassed by how terrified I was of an house-elf. "I... just a glass of hot milk, thanks."

"Oh, no, no, no— Master Lass don't thank Dobby! It is Dobby's job, sir! What Master wants, Dobby serves, sir! Shall Dobby sends it to Master Lass' room?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that would be appreciated." Dobby looked so overjoyed at being thanked I felt sorry. I backtracked and crept back into my room.

It may be my paranoia or my imagination, but I was sure my covers weren't so haphazardly thrown. My heart thudded, uncomfortably loud even to my own ears; did someone move it? I was frozen stiff, rooted to the spot, unable to move out of fear. I don't know what to do, there's no way I could possibly run to Aunt Cissa because Lucius was there and I might, once again, hear _too_ much. If I go to Draco's room, I would be branded a coward and I don't think my ego could take that.

A crack resounded in the room and I jumped again, heart going wild. I calmed slightly and regained feeling of my limbs when I saw it was only Dobby. I took the glass from him and started drinking.

"Uh, Dobby?" I said when he bowed, probably about ready to Disapparate.

"Yes, sir? Is there anything Master Lass need?"

I closed my eyes, swallowed my pride and asked, "Can you stay here?" Dobby blinked, obviously confused. "Keep me company," I added. "I'm scared... of _ghosts_."

Dobby's eyes widened. "T-that's... but Dobby has cleanings to do but... if Master Lass command Dobby to does it, then he shall, yes, he shall. Dobby shall protects Master Lass from ghosts and bad thingies, he will."

"Thank you, Dobby," I said sincerely, offering him a small smile.

_He's a nice elf,_ I thought as I crawled into bed, feeling much reassured now. Silently, I promised myself to save Dobby, to ensure Mom didn't kill him.

He really stayed with me all night, vigilant at the foot of my bed as a guard.

Looking back on it, it's just pathetically sad that the only person you can run to and confide your fears in is a lowly house-elf. But I don't have much choice. Either Dobby's comfort or none at all.

**:: :: ::**

Draco whined lowly. "Eh? Why do I need to learn this stuff?" I didn't say anything because Draco had already took the words right out of my mouth. Good thing too, I have a reputation to uphold and coming off as a whiny brat that despised schoolwork would not be helping.

I glanced inquiringly at Aunt Cissa who was trying to stop Draco from throwing a temper-tantrum. "This is important for you to be a great leader, Dray," Aunt Cissa was saying, smoothing her son's blonde hair. He was pouting at her. "And, well, Sal will be here with you. Remember what I promised you last night, Dray?"

My ears perked slightly but I tried to stop it from twitching as I blatantly eavesdropped. It's too hard for me to be eavesdropping in plain view because my ears would betray me by twitching too much. This body was real flexible, which was good because I'd need quick reflexes in dueling.

I tried to ignore the fact that I was so certain about being caught up in duels. My parents were Voldemort's largest supporters, there's no way I can wiggle out of serving him. What a _real_ honor. Tch.

"—las! Rasalas!"

I blinked. "Sorry?" Spacing out was a bad habit of mine. And damn, I completely missed what Draco and Aunt Cissa were whispering about. I was pissed at myself.

Aunt Cissa huffed. "The tutor is here, Rasalas, don't space out." I nodded listlessly and she patted my head too, kissing Draco's cheek before leaving. "Behave, both of you."

"I always do," I grumbled, slightly offended that she didn't have much confidence in me. I guessed she was used to boys being destructive. I slid into the chair, flipping open the book and staring down at the incomprehensible text.

Oh wait, wasn't this tutor coming to help us understand? I think this is French or Italian; I dunno. I closed my eyes when Draco's voice, loud and high that only a child's voice could be, asked, "Sal! Why can't I understand this? Sal?"

I glanced miserably out at the snowy landscape; this would be one long year.

**:: :: ::**

Aunt Cissa smoothed my hair, smiling gently down at me. "Excited, Sal?"

I pried her fingers off my scalp. My hair didn't need to be smoothed over since it's always flat. Still, I was expected to be nice and polite to the aunt who had taken care of me for seven years so I nodded. "Sure, I can't wait to learn more magic."

Aunt Cissa held out her hand for me to take. I grasped her wrist, where the Portkey in the form of a bracelet was. I nodded at her to show that I was ready and in the blink of an eye, everything dissolved. I felt something snagging my back and hauling me away; the ground fell away from my feet and I yelled in shock, clamping hard on Aunt Cissa's hand.

I swooned when we hit ground again. To prevent myself from collapsing, I fell into a crouch, slapping my hands over my mouth to prevent myself from barfing. In the few minutes it took for me to regain my bearing, I realized Aunt Cissa had stated rubbing soothing circles on my back.

I hiccuped. "I'm okay," I told her, but I still accepted her help as she pulled me to my feet. "So... uh, where to first?" I asked as I adjusted my sky-blue tunic, glancing around the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. I couldn't help but be fascinated however, this was my first time seeing so many wizards and witches gathered around and using magic so freely.

I had met wizards and witches of course, at those pureblood parties that Uncle Lucius will hold. I had managed to skip a few by pretending to be ill, really fall sick on occasions or hide out somewhere with the aid of faithful Dobby. But there were times I couldn't worm my way out of it of course. I'd like to see someone run for it with Lucius peering down their shoulder and making sure they were not going anywhere anytime soon.

It was hours of dancing with girls my age or older, of shaking heads and exchanging meaningless pleasantries and smiling smiles so fake my cheeks ached. It wasn't too bad if it had only been dancing and mind games, but there was this topic that bothered me and pissed me off: marriage. I was seven back when I first heart it and they were already talking about it.

It was disgusting. Especially since it had came from Mr. Parkinson. It was Draco clinging to my leg like a leech that prevented me from running away and screaming bloody murder. Running with a heavy five-year-old would be tough, it doesn't matter how fast my legs can carry me.

I had shot panicked looks at Aunt Cissa and had made subtle and not-so-subtle gestures to decline his suggestion.

After the party, Aunt Cissa had laughed as she patted my head, "Someday, as the Head of Lestrange House, you'd still have to marry a proper _pureblood_ girl and have heirs to continue your line."

I was prepared to be childless, asexual and a lonely, unmarried man.

Once upon a time, I was a girl, and now they expected me to marry a girl? I remembered barfing into the toilet bowl the very same night, I just wondered if it's because of the dragon tartare or it was because Alima Yaxley planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek as a goodbye gesture.

I was brought back to the present when Aunt Cissa prodded me forward. "Come on, Sal, stop spacing out. Do that when you're old, you're still young and you brood like an old man."

I smiled sarcastically. "Great advice, Auntie."

She pinched my cheek, but she was smiling.

**:: :: ::**

_If Draco keeps standing there and looking at me like that, I'm going to rip every platinum blonde hair from his pointed head and line his coffin with them._

Irritated, I crossed my arms. "Look, just spit it out already," I told him. "You wake me up in the dead of the night just to stare at me? I'm flattered, I know I'm handsome and all but you don't need to keep pointing that out." I couldn't help the icy sarcasm. "I need a good night's sleep for tomorrow."

At the mention of tomorrow, Draco made a strangled sound. I squinted into the darkness to make sure he wasn't being strangled by my magic that might have been activated due to my sheer irritation at my lack of sleep. I like sleeping, I like looking good to face others; black rings around my eyes make me look like a panda or worse, like I was wearing make-up. There's this one time I had a nightmare and couldn't sleep for the itching feeling that there's someone staring at me and Aunt Cissa had told me off for playing with her make-up.

"Boys don't need eyeliner, Sal," Aunt Cissa said as she tried to scrub my eyes out of their sockets; she gripped my jaw so tightly I couldn't speak to explain and could only flail my arms helplessly to try to get her away. "Your eyes are striking enough."

The last thing I needed was to look like I was wearing make-up to Hogwarts. I've never had fondness for make-up as a girl in my past life; as a boy now, I had even less desire to touch make-up.

"Why can't we go to Hogwarts together?" Draco finally sighed. "I want to go with you—I asked Dad and he said—"

"'Course not," I said gruffly. A year without Draco? _Fantastical, magical._

"I heard from Grandpa Abraxas that you've got to fight trolls."

"I'll kick their asses," I said confidently, making a mental note to remove Abraxas' portrait and stuff it in the darkest part of the mansion I could find. Abraxas loved looking at people and chatting with them; barricaded in the dark from any sort of contact would kill him as much as it possibly can when he's a portrait.

I couldn't see very well in the dark but I could hear the frown in his voice, and the curiosity too. "You can? Even though you don't have a wand?"

"They're idiots, just _outsmart_ them, Draco." I snorted. "Done, I think."

"Sal..."

"Yeah?"

"I... no, it's nothing."

"Spill it."

"I... Dad said that Malfoys shouldn't show so much emotion, y'know, it makes us weak and I really want to listen to him because I'm his heir and all, so I need to make him proud—"

"Draco, you're _rambling_. And I hate ramblers."

"I_think_I'mgonna_miss_youreal_bad_andI_don't_knowhowI'mgoingtocope—"

"Take a breath," I interjected, running a hand through my hair, frowning. _I don't know why you're going to miss me, brat, I mean, we've argued like crazy in the years we've been living together and I'm sure you must've noticed by now how I avoid you and always turn you away when you want to play Quidditch or hide when you're calling for me._

Thinking about all the times I made excuses and locked myself in the library, I felt a little guilty. But saying such would be too harsh and Aunt Cissa had explicitly told me to '_don't be too hard on Draco, Sal, he's just a kid_' and unless I want to live on the streets, without a roof over my head, I swallowed those words back and instead, said, "It's just for nine months or so."

"Nine months too long," Draco commented. Then his eyes widened dramatically. "It'd be eighteen months!" he wailed. "You're two years older than me!"

"No, I was born after July 31st, which is why I wasn't in last year's batch of first-years to Hogwarts. You'll be joining me next year."

He brightened. "OK!"

"Can you go now? 'M tired."

Draco hesitated.

I sighed, crawling back into bed. "You can sleep here," I hadn't even finished my sentence when Draco jumped onto the bed, wiggling under the blanket. "I'm not done yet—kick me or squirm too much and you're out."

"Deal," said Draco and I could hear the grin in his voice.

I sighed into my pillow tried to sleep anyway.

I was too prideful to admit it but it's sort of relaxing to have Draco there. Courage comes to me when there's someone else there, dunno why. Probably because I can always shove him into harm's way as a meat shield and run for my life.

Yeah, that must be it.

I closed my eyes.

**:: :: ::**

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**Answer to Guest Reviews:**

**guestie: **No comment for that one. =.=ll

**Retzl: **We'll see.

**Guest: **You guessed right, congrats!

**oOo**

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**A.N:**_ Draco's and Rasalas' relationship will be explored later when I'm doing a World-Building chapter. But feel free to guess what sort of relationship they have._

**Thanks for the previous chapter's reviews; keep it up!**

**xxx**


	4. 1 Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything.**

**:: ::**

**:: ::**

**The Estranged Star**

**Chapter 3**

**:: ::**

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You see, Draco wasn't always so insistent on sticking close to me. Nor did he like me very much in the first place. He always thought I was out to rob his mother's affections from him. (He didn't have to worry his blonde head off about losing his father's affection through plain observation that Lucius gave me a cheap blank book when he bought a Coment 280 for Draco.)

That's to be expected. But the teasing, the goading and sneering insults completely blew me off. I didn't know where a six-year-old learned to be so vindictive to his elders but I assume this had something to do with Lucius. You can easily tell I have no respect for that man and that I have the tendency to blame every miserable thing that happened to me on Lucius (most of the time, it really was his doing).

Lucius had snapped at me for beating Draco at chess and threw me out of the room (not physically) once.

Still, for Aunt Cissa's sake, I endured and dealt with the brat's tantrums and whatever he dished at me with a pained smile which was more of a grimace; gritted my teeth to swallow the scream of rage; clenched my fists so tightly my fingernails cut into my palms to stop myself from punching him.

I had only lost it once. Aunt Cissa had been too busy fussing over Draco's swollen eye to stop Lucius' rage. He threw me into the basement and snarled that I won't be getting dinner for that night and the next.

I hated basements. Hated it with a passion ever since I stumbled upon my family and Barty Crouch Jr. torturing Aurors Longbottom.

It brought back very bad memories. I'd been delusional back then, preferring to ignore what they were capable of (death, destruction, evil) and it had hit hard when they were taken away from me.

I missed them terribly.

My eyes stung. My parents wouldn't have punished me by throwing me into the basement and revoking dinner and privileges. I sort of imagined they'd talk me through it or give me timeouts like Aunt Cissa did whenever I caused trouble (which usually involved 'aggravating' Draco one way or another).

I would've been their _favorite_, like Draco was to his parents.

To be fair, I wasn't the sweetest kid around to Draco. Where Aunt Cissa and Lucius would praise him, I would find faults. Frankly, I was irked by how Aunt Cissa cooed about her 'smart' her Draco was and how proud she was of him. She wasn't proud of _me_, she just patted my head and told me to do better before drifting away.

I didn't think she did it intentionally, I refuse to believe it.

I would criticize Draco whenever he was bragging. But it wasn't always like that, his attitude to me changed completely when he hit six. At five, he may be obnoxious and demanding but he never threw barbing insults at me or insinuations that I was unloved and unwanted.

I guess, in retrospective, Draco was only retaliating the number of times I had shoved him away.

It's a wonder how Draco came to cling to my leg like a leech after that.

**:: :: ::**

Draco's first boggart was an Erkling.

Of course he didn't encounter one in the Malfoy Manor, that's ridiculous. The place was so heavily guarded even a fly wouldn't be able to get in (or out for the matter but that's not the point). We were on vacation then, in France with the Goyles and Crabbes.

Draco's future, personal bodyguards were there as well and they could keep him preoccupied or they could team up and try to make my life as miserable as possible.

During vacation, they chose the latter. I was assigned the specific task to take care of the kids while the women gossiped and the men plotted world domination (not necessarily in that order). Taking care of Draco alone was stretching my nerves (there's only so much I can take), but add in Vincent and Gregory?

I grounded my teeth together, glaring out at the window of the luxurious vacation home we're currently settled in. What I wouldn't give to chuck the boys out the window and no one being the wiser...

"Hey, Sal!"

"What?" I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. If I gave in to anger and lash out, I would be admitting defeat. My glare was deadly enough but Draco knew he can push it since I'm responsible for his safety and was expected to protect him even from my own anger.

"We're going out to explore the cave behind the villa!"

"No," I snapped, shifting into a straighter position to brace myself, just in case, for Draco's tantrum. Sometimes, he would just scream angrily. Other times, he would come at me with his fists windmilling. Today, he lasted longer and did not resort to a tantrum to get what he wanted.

"I don't care," he said arrogantly. "Vince, Greg and I will go." But he didn't move, he cracked an eye open to gauge my reaction. Obviously, he wanted to goad me into something.

If he thought I would fall for his bait and be thrown into panic and beg him to stop (like his mother often did to stop his tantrum), he was wrong. Even though I wanted to punch him, I settled for gripping the book tighter. "Go then," I hissed vindictively, "I don't care what happen to you idiots."

"Stupid Sal!"

He shot out of the room but I was less-than-concerned. He probably went to complain to his dad or went back to his friends to further plot his next act.

I was left to enjoy the tranquility that was the absence of three brats until Dobby Apparated into my room, in complete hysterics as he beat himself. I groaned softly but closed my book after bookmarking it, I placed it on the table and approached Dobby who sobbed and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, alternating between rubbing his tears and punching himself. "What's wrong?" I asked, eyes wide; tone laced with concern that I did not give to Draco. I crouched to his level and pried his hands off, holding it tightly. "I won't let you hurt yourself. Now tell me what's wrong."

"M-Master Draco—Guest Master Vincy and Greggy—gone! All gone!" Dobby sobbed even louder. "Dobby is to servings them lunch, Master Las," he moaned, in fear of what Lucius would do to him once he find out the elf lost track of his precious heir and only son. "Thens, then is Dobby noticing them gone." He howled, collapsing onto the floor in a mess of tears, worry and fear.

I knew why he had come to me. I had allowed him to come to me if he had problems, in return for standing vigilant guard at night beside me, to protect me from those invisible specters. I know they're there. I know it.

I cursed softly as I ran a hand through my hair.

_Those brats... were serious when they said they wanted to go into the cave?_

"Dobby—!" I stopped myself. What could I say? Tell him to alert the adults? No. He'd only get in trouble then. I'm sure they haven't gotten very far, they're kids with short legs, I can catch up quickly and haul them back without anyone knowing of Dobby and my negligence.

To be fair, they ditched me. But I knew Lucius would ignore what I had to say in defense.

I stared at Dobby. "Stay here, I'll go. If I don't come back in an hour, then get help." I dashed from the room, quite alert of how my heart was pounding loudly.

If anything happened to them, Lucius would rip my head off.

_That's horrid_, a tiny part of me hissed, _those kids might be hurt and you're worried about your own hide?_

_Of course, me, myself and I come first!_

Great, another sign of insanity. Talking to myself, I mean. I wonder if Mom and Dad were doing the same thing in their cells. Wait, now's not the time.

I tore out of the villa and into the woods surrounding this place; there was the waterfall to the east but I heard Goyle Sr. mentioning a cave in the south of the villa.

It was easy to tell where they had gone. Their footprints were imprinted on the muddy soil and they had snapped dry branches and twigs. I hoped that there wasn't any wild animals (or worse, magical creatures) out here that could _scent_ them.

I didn't find the boys. They slammed into me, nearly sending me into the ground. At the youthful age of six, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were the weight of kids twice their age. So, you see, it was a magnificent feat for me to be able to still stand after that blow.

I wheezed but the fury chased away any room for catching breath. "YOU _IDIOTS_!" I screeched, ignoring how red their faces were; they had obviously been running. "YOU COULD'VE GOTTEN LOST AND—where's Draco?" I should've noticed this before. There were only two brats in front of me, the third and smallest were missing.

"I-inside," gasped Vincent. "He went into the cave when we wouldn't."

"You didn't drag him back?" I said, incredulous.

"Draco's scary," mumbled Gregory.

"Follow the trail," I snapped, pointing at the footprints and broken branches and pebbles I had dropped to mark which path I had came from. "Get back, shower and change, don't let anyone know and stay in your rooms until I get back."

I didn't fancy entering dark places but the emotion anger was powerful magic. Adrenaline was pumping in my veins, anger pounding in my ears and I plunged into the darkness before I had time to think twice about it. My eyes needed a few moments to adjust.

It was hard to maneuver in here; the only light I had was mostly obscured by the canopy of trees that surrounded this cave so the sun had a hard time making it in. The ground sloped downward; jerkily and cautiously I made my way downward, calling alternately for Draco's name.

"—it's not funny! If you come out now, I'd forget this ever happened and I won't get mad"—'Cause I'm already pissed as hell and you're going to get it—"Draco?"

I felt a flush of anger; here I was, risking my neck and wasting precious time to save his sorry as and he was cackling? I strained my ears as I made my way closer to the source of the sound. Was Draco's laughter this high-pitched? Heart thudding uncomfortably loud in my chest, I quickened my pace, stumbling and falling only twice.

"Oof!" Make that thrice.

I peeled myself off the rocky ground, picking the tiny pebbles from my palm and ignored how it stung. Before I could shout out again, a low voice crooned, "Come on, closer, that's it, boy... don't you want to see me?" Another cackle.

I spun, facing what I assumed to be north-east and marched deeper into the cave; the light from the entrance was very faint now and I go deeper, I would be completely blind. I clutched the stitch in my side, wheezing slightly, as I contemplated calling for Dobby.

"Draco?" I called uncertainly.

Then I saw it: a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

I screeched and my knees buckled in fear. I fell to my knees just in time to avoid some sort of attack. Something had whizzed past my cheek just now. I fumbled in the dark, hand groping until I found someone's ankles. I could wrap my hand around it; the ankle belonged to a child. "Draco!"

I scrambled to my feet, using his stiff and immobile body as a pole. The yellow-eyed creature cackled louder. I glanced around but didn't know it was close until it bit my leg. I shouted as sharp canines sank into my calf. I fell back, losing my hold on Draco but I didn't care about that for now.

MY assailant's glowing yellow eyes became visible once more. I groped the earth around me, latched onto a rock, the size of my palm and hit.

It shrieked in pain—its voice hurt my ears and I flinched—but I didn't relent. I lunged and hit whichever part I could get. My arms were undoubtedly aching at the repetitive bashing but adrenaline drained the pain and fear away. I didn't stop until I felt wetness on my palms and the creature finally stopped writhing and biting, punching and kicking.

It was dead.

"...Draco?"

There was a moment of silence before someone moved. It was my annoying little cousin, no doubt. I heard hurried intakes of breath, sharp and seemingly panicked. "Vince! Greg! Guys—where are you?" His voice was laced in panic and I was content to just remain silent, stiff and glare at where his voice came from.

Good. Let that little brat repent... after all that he put me through... I was sick with worry—er, for myself certainly. I couldn't bear to imagine what Lucius would do to me if Draco died here.

When Draco sobbed and burst into tears, I moved. "I'm here," I announced, holding my hand out, but groped thin air.

Draco might've stilled. "Sal?" he whispered.

"No, this is Salazar Slytherin. Of course it's me! Get over here and take my hand!" I heard the sound of shuffling and I nearly shrieked when someone grabbed me from behind. I pried Draco's hands off and pulled him to the light instead. He refused, however, to let me go completely.

He was shaking so badly he could barely stand.

I ended up piggybacking the brat back to the vacation home, well-aware that the adults would swoop down on us in worry once they saw the state we were in. My hands were stained with green liquid, we were covered in mud and had scrapes, bruises and cuts that're bleeding.

"You've been very foolish today," I grumbled, still simmering with irritation.

Draco's arms around my neck tightened briefly. "...'m sorry. I just—" I didn't hear what he mumbled next, so shocked I was that he actually apologized. Draco Malfoy never apologizes!

"Well," I said, a little bit uncomfortable with how pliant and subdued he was being. "As long as you know what you did wrong, you can always change Don't wander into unfamiliar territory again, you hear me?"

"Yes, Sal." A beat of silence rolled, broken only by the rustle of leaves and snap of twigs under my feet. "Thanks."

_Slow down with the changes, man, you're giving me a heart-attack._

I shifted him, adjusting it so that I could be more comfortable.

"It's nothing," I told him. "I was supposed to watch out for you anyway."

**:: :: ::**

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**:: ::**

**Answer to Guest Reviews:**

**yui:** Thanks!

**Retzl:** Yes, glad someone noticed. XD

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**:: ::**

This is an interlude of sorts, flashback to how Draco and Rasalas' relationship build up but Draco would get a narration in his pov later.

**Question:** Is there anything you'd like to see in this fic? What sort of changes Rasalas would make, etc.?

\/\/\/\/\/\/

Review!

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